Presage
by AngeliqueBouchard1972
Summary: When Ozai is young he dreams, he waits, and he plans. He could never plan for her, though. Ursa. The woman who would change his life forever. Ignores the comics. T/M.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi! This is just a little idea I've been playing with. Is it weird that I feel like Ozai in this chapter? Maybe... Anyway, enjoy! I think I'll continue this if people like it, so make sure to leave me a review and I'll add some more chapters!

Iroh's reception had been overwhelming. Waves of people, friends and acquaintances all the like, had been waiting there at the dock. Ozai stood with his father, silent and masked as his brother descended from the deck. He tried to force himself to smile. He couldn't. Azulon was standing in front of him, completely oblivious to his second son as he welcomed the royal procession. They had embraced as soon as Iroh had reached the platform, a strange sight. His father was not by any means a caring man, nor a gentle one, and that made the action all the more repulsive to Ozai. Then it was little Lu Ten that came up from behind, reaching up for Iroh.

He looked upon the face of his crown prince and wanted to vomit at his expression. His face was contorted into a happy smile, his eyes bright and full of joy as he found his friends and family waiting. He didn't even look at Ozai. His gaze was all for his father and his own son. Ozai desperately wanted to look away from the scene, but he knew it would be incredibly rude. He felt separated from them, uncomfortable. It was like he was watching another family reunite. And he very well could have. Ozai was not close to anyone, but he certainly wasn't close to these people who felt more like strangers then his own flesh and blood. Then, all of a sudden, Iroh pulled away from Azulon and went to reach for his younger brother. Ozai faked a smile while Iroh grinned wholeheartedly.

"It's so good to see you brother. I've missed you," Iroh began, grasping his shoulders. Ozai bowed, wishing with all his might that Iroh would get off him.

"And I you," he replied, hoping that was what Iroh wanted to hear. Then, finally, he released him and turned to the hoards of people that had waited for him. They were all lower, below the dais where the royalty waited. Ozai thought briefly if there would have been even a handful of people to wait for his arrival if he was the one that had gone instead of his brother. The thought made his feelings sour even more, so he tried to ignore the idea. But in his heart of hearts, he knew he was right. He was always right. And that thought depressed him.

How could he ever compete with Iroh? He was nearly twenty years older, more accomplished, and more likeable. Hours later, at his formal reception in the palace, the sour thought was still circling around in his head. He wished he could kill him. His brother, slain at his feet, it was a happy thought. He could wipe that gleeful expression right of his face. There would be no more laughing, no more pointless conversations about tea, and no more helplessness. Prince Ozai assumes the throne. He fantasized about it constantly, but even more now that he was home and in his face. His brother slain. His father slain. The world kneeling at his feet. _Fire Lord Ozai_ , he told himself. That would be his name.

Suddenly his fantasy broke and he remembered where he was. It had been hours, and still more people were approaching the crown prince. How could that even be possible? How many friends could Iroh even have? His son, the precious Lu Ten, kept running around showing everyone who would pay attention the medal his father had given him. The boy never approached him. He never so much as glanced his direction. No one did. At least, that's what it felt like. He wanted to leave. And in a brief moment that he would say was very uncharacteristic, he wanted to cry. He wanted to burn all these people and sit on the lawn, watching their ashes rise up and consume the sky. He wanted everything to burn. He had been holding it inside for too long.

A woman approached him. She had a gorgeous crimson kimono with cherry blossom print on the obi sash. Her dark hair was half up, and various pins and ornaments dangled in her intricate bun. She looked unfamiliar as she bowed, her pretty face coming into view.

"Prince Ozai, a pleasure," she said in a surprisingly low voice. It had a sultry tone to it. Ozai was immediately suspicious of this attention. Regardless, he bowed as well.

"What is your name, my lady?" He asked casually. He wasn't particularly interested in anything with this woman, but talking to her would certainly be preferable to standing in the corner watching Iroh receive endless praise and love while he received none.

"Azari, my lord," she said smoothly, looking up at her from under her darkened lashes. He knew she was trying to flirt with him, that much was obvious, but the concept of flirtation itself eluded him. It made him uncomfortable for some unknown reason. Nevertheless he leaned against the wall and smiled, taking a drink from one of the servants making their way through the crowds.

"Beautiful," he breathed, but somehow his words were still sour. He still couldn't shake the sour feeling at the base of his stomach, so the words came out harsher than he intended.

"Thank you," she said, reaching for a glass as well. Ozai raised an eyebrow.

"You drink?" He asked casually. Ladies often declined hard liquor, to his experience. She looked at the glass of Fire Brandy in her hands briefly and blushed.

"At parties," she said coyly. Ozai licked his lips. He wanted to go back to his rooms.

"You go to parties a lot then," he replied, taking a drink of the whisky. He enjoyed the way it burned down his throat. He liked the way it hurt.

"Well, sometimes," she said, "especially for a chance to meet the illustrious princes." He chuckled, but it sounded more like a scoff.

"What?" She asked him, a smile hinting the corners of her mouth. Ozai looked out past the crowd towards his brother, flanked by Azulon and all of his top generals, basking in his own glory. Ozai took another drink.

"I don't know if I'm necessarily illustrious." It was supposed to sound humorous, but again he had failed in this interaction. He sounded angry about it. He noticed how her smile flickered momentarily. She had noticed it too. But then the smile was back and she shaked her head.

"Of course you are. You're a _prince_." She sounded definite, but he wasn't so sure. Her sincerity was beginning to sound fake, her sweetness as artificial as brightly colored mochi. To be honest, though, he didn't know if he was imagining it or not.

He faked a smirk once more, but his eyes held no humor.

"And what are you?" He asked, his strange expression unchanged. The question seemed abrupt and Azari wondered if she had angered him. Perhaps she had said something inappropriate.

"Beg pardon?" She asked, clutching the glass a bit tighter in her delicate hands. She didn't know much about Ozai, but she did know that he was a force to be reckoned with when he was angry. That thought scared her.

"What do you do?" He wanted her to leave but he couldn't. There was really no one else to talk to.

"I'm a helpless socialite, I'm afraid." She chuckled and Ozai turned to her slowly. That sardonic smirk was back on his face.

"You are? I haven't seen you here before," he mentioned. She tilted her head.

"I hadn't been invited before." Ozai made a noncommittal noise and turned to face the room. The reception room was high, with decadent gold inlay on the ceilings and banisters. On both of the side walls the large doors were open and led people outside. It was beautiful, but his sour mood had ruined any appreciation he would have had for such things. Suddenly he had an idea. He looked back to Azari who was following his lead and pursuing the room. He looked back at her and really looked at her for the first time. She was beautiful. He had noticed that when he first saw her. But he was paying attention now.

He had beautiful eyes, classically Fire Nation in their appearance. They held her sultry nature and the way her eyes slid across the room, calculating. He liked that. She had a straight elegant nose, like him, but her lips were like a lotus flower. She had applied some sort of makeup and they looked wet and entirely appetizing. He briefly wondered if she was an escort of some kind.

"Who is your family?" He wondered. She looked up at his intense stare.

"Zuyong, my lord. We're from the southern province." Ozai nodded.

"And your father?" He continued. There were many with her family name.

"He is the minister of finance for our province." Ozai watched her take another drink, her eyes never straying from his.

"Ah, quite a ways you've traveled then." She nodded, her expression returning to what it was before.

"You've never been to the palace?" He asked, already knowing the answer. An idea was forming in his head. She shook her head.

"No, my prince. I never have." For the first time Ozai genuinely smiled.

"I'll give you a tour," he proposed, not even asking for her acceptance. As a servant walked by he set his glass down on their tray.

"I couldn't impose, your highness," she replied. He took her glass and set it down as well.

"Nonsense, it wouldn't be an imposition," Ozai insisted, "Come with me." Azari smirked.

He lead her down the great hall, giving her the history along the way. A few people lingered out there, but most were back in the party, trying to get as much facetime with the Firelord as possible. Ozai didn't care about leaving the party. He knew his father would never so much as even look his way for the rest of the night, so what did it matter? He only cared for Iroh.

"And this is where the agni kais were fought," he explained, showing her the formal dueling room at the end of the west wing. It was pretty much deserted now. War was no time for petty duels. That is what everyone seemed to think, because that is what Azulon declared. Ozai half wondered if it was because he was afraid that if anyone challenged him he would be too old and feeble to fight. That would certainly be unbecoming of a monarch: the sun incarnate. Ozai wanted to scoff again, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Azari brushed her manicured hand against the mahogany panelling.

"It's amazing. It would be so interesting to watch a real match." Her eyes were on the raised dais, elevated for where the men would battle.

"Yes it would," he answered, thinking of all of the famous Agni Kai tournaments he had read about. Azari turned around gracefully and leaned against the wall.

"Or to fight in one," she continued, her voice still carrying its sultry tone.

"Yes..." he agreed, thinking.

"Are you a bender?" Ozai asked.

"Yes," Azari answered, her head lifted back to show her elegant neck. He quickly surmised that she knew why he had brought her here alone. She was practically teasing him.

Her head lifted and she summoned fire into her palm. Ozai watched her from a few steps back.

"My great-grandfather had white fire," she said, "Or so my father claims." Ozai narrowed his eyes, imagining it as the orange fire danced around in her palm.

"White fire. That's fascinating."

"My mother says my father made it up."

"People say things all the time," she said slowly, carefully, "people say things about you." Ozai's gaze quickly flickered to meet hers.

"Oh? And what do they say?" He took a step closer to her.

"That you're very smart, but you're reckless. A firebrand." Ozai narrowed his eyes at that and chuckled.

"I resent that," he retorted, attempting humor.

"What are you, then?" Azari asked, repeating his question from before. Ozai took her position from before, leaning against the wall.

"Not much," he responded, and immediately wondered why he said it. He didn't know what he was trying to do with that. Azari laughed.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She was trying to be funny, but all Ozai could manage was a smirk, so he turned his head. It wasn't funny how true his own statement seemed to him.

"No one forgets a prince." Ozai turned his head at that. He wanted to read her, he wanted to see if she was being earnest. He couldn't tell anything. All he saw was a beautiful woman, crimson robes and lotus-bud lips. Perhaps that's all she needed to be.

Settled on the idea, he stepped closer to her.

"I don't know if you're telling the truth... but you won't forget me." Azari's eyes lighted up deviously, and gold hit gold.

"I won't? And what makes you think that?" She was toying with him.

"I won't let you," was his only answer. And then he was kissing her, holding her head in his neck and taking the breath away from her. When he pulled away she wasn't smiling but her eyes spoke of a different kind of emotion. Her lust was clear, especially when they were so close, it was swirling in the metallic depth of her eyes. Ozai inhaled, thinking.

"We haven't finished the tour," Azami started, taking more of a seductive tone than a humorous one. Ozai smirked.

"We haven't?"

"You never showed me your chambers."

There weren't many signs more obvious than that. But Ozai wasn't complaining. It would be a pleasant distraction, anyway. He lead her through the darkened halls of the palace. The party was drawing to a close and most of the guests had left hours ago. He pulled open the door to his rooms and ushered her inside. The microcosm of rooms that were his were only a fraction of the size of the palace, but they were vastly larger than the extent of even the homes of the rich.

Azari looked around, running her fingers across the glossy wooden surface of the table in his entryway. She looked at the double doors at the back of the large room.

"Is that your bedroom?" She asked, her voice quiet. When he nodded she looked back at him for a second before going ahead and entering. Ozai's large bed sat at the far wall. It had four posters and red, sheer curtains that matched those on the windows. Moonlight poured into the room as they drifted in the breeze. She was looking out the window, down at the far away roofs of the city, when he came up behind her. Seeing no reason for a preamble, he pulled her waist closer to him and kissed her neck, eventually reaching up for the pins in her hair and placing them on the table. She moaned and leaned into his touch, her hair falling down her back.

As he stripped her and laid her on the bed, he tried to blur out the background. Blur out his own thoughts. He should be happy, he told himself. _No one forgets a prince._ But when their orgasms had faded and he lay looking up at the canopy of his bed he felt nothing. Perhaps his ill mood had been numbed, but he wasn't at all pleased when she curled up next to him.

"You can leave now." He said the words monotonously, as if he was talking to one of his servants. His voice held no malice, but she still scowled at him in confusion. He knew it was cold, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. She blinked, as if she was going to say something, but then the emotion passed and she nodded, sitting up and sliding out of the bed. He glanced over at her and the creamy expanse of her back, feeling nothing. He wondered why happiness eluded him. He remembered Iroh's face, his gleeful expression, and he wondered why he never felt like that. He supposed the reason should be obvious.

Azari was gathering her things and then she was at the door, ready to leave. Ozai looked at her from where he was laying. She was holding the door, halfway through, when she spoke,

"Goodnight Ozai." She sounded just as empty as he felt. Before he could say anything in response, she was out the door. _Prince Ozai_. He wanted to correct her, and he didn't know why. He did know why. But thinking it to himself was too painful. Because tomorrow was just another day, and there would be no joy. He would still be powerless, he would still be invisible. He would still pale in comparison to his older brother. Nothing would change. So what did a few hours of pleasure really matter? The future seemed resolute, omnipresent. And again, like always, the fantasy returned. Nothing felt better, he thought, nothing would feel better, than to see his father slain, kneeling permanently at his feet, and his brother's smiles cut out of him, cursed forever to be frowning. Not Prince Ozai, he corrected himself once more.

 _Fire Lord Ozai._

A/N: Review please! I'll add another chapter if you guys like it. Tell me what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Gentle light filtered in through the open curtains in Ozai's private study, illuminating the scroll he was currently reading. When Ozai had made it clear to his father that he wanted more responsibility, the Firelord was hesitant. He knew Ozai desired war. The Firelord did not trust Ozai in the slightest with tasks of any importance, despite his age. Ozai was twenty-two, broad of shoulder, and sharp of mind. And yet, he would likely never see war. Azulon had only two sons, and as Iroh was the first born he was the only one who was allowed to go to war. Ozai had to stay behind in case his older brother died on the battlefield - otherwise no one would be groomed to take the throne.

Because of this, Azulon never considered Ozai to hold any real importance. He was a backup, someone of little consideration in his life because Iroh was strong and would not fail. He trusted in his older son to conquer and return home with great news - to make him proud through warfare. His second son would never see battle, and when Iroh ascended the throne, he would be utterly useless. He made this quite clear to his second born whenever he pestered him with hope of glory. Ozai would never have glory, he said, he was only a means to an end. He was frivolous royalty, stagnant in his position.

Ozai despised this fact. He was caught in a stasis between his younger years - of being told to stay quiet and not to voice his thoughts - and his adulthood - an empty period of his life. It seemed as if all he was destined to do in life was sit and wait for the death of his brother, something Ozai really came to understand in his teenage years. Azulon saw this in his son as he aged. Ozai's youthful naivete and excitement for life withered away and as he neared adulthood he was almost unrecognizable from his childhood self. Gone was the incessant questioning and pestering of his youth. As he grew taller he grew quieter, more pensive. As his voice became deeper it also became more elegant and refined, and the silver tongue of a politician grew where a child's used to be. Gone were his childhood friends. Oddly Azulon noticed they never came around anymore. Ozai was always alone when he called on him, deep in study or firebending training. It took Azulon off guard, although he wouldn't admit it, to see his son change so much. There was a dark aura around him that was never there before, and the boy's intelligence became clear as he aged.

It almost made Azulon proud to see his second born mold into something worthwhile. He was a gifted bender, after all, and he excelled in all his studies. By the time he was sixteen he had outgrown all his academic tutors, and he taught himself eagerly and regularly. When his father spoke Ozai no longer looked at him with awe and amazement, eager to be seen, but rather with a solemn consideration that spoke nothing of a child's wonder. Ozai's golden eyes, so much like his own, now became lidded and narrow. He was wide-eyed no longer.

At the dinner table, the only time Azulon ever regularly spent with his son, Ozai was reserved and solemn. When Azulon caught his son's gaze it burned. Burned with something Azulon had never seen before. There was a fierce intelligence in Ozai's gaze, just as in Iroh's, but Ozai's was entirely different. For years Azulon had never given a second thought to this second child, finding it a worthless pursuit to care for a purposeless child. Now that Ozai was a young adult Azulon was beginning to wonder if neglect had been the right choice for Ozai. He wanted to make his son more thoughtful, which he had succeeded in, as Ozai barely ever spoke on his own anymore, but the rest of the changes he was seeing were somewhat startling, and Azulon did begin to take notice in his as he aged.

If Azulon questioned Ozai about the war, he could always answer. Ozai read every intelligence report he could get his hands on, and he often questioned war generals and politicians in private to gain inside information. If Azulon asked Ozai about his firebending progress he would show him, and his forms were exact and imaginative. If Ozai asked about anything else, however, it was like he was talking to a stranger.

If Azulon used to ask Ozai about Iroh, he would become interested and obviously jealous. He loved his brother and he wanted to be him. More often than not Ozai was the one asking questions in his youth, eager to know where Iroh was and what he was doing. Azulon would shoot down these questions quickly and scold Ozai not to bother him.

Now, Ozai never asked. As a kind of test of Ozai's new resolve, Azulon would bring him up with him. He would dig into Ozai's sores, clawing right at what would hurt him the most.

"What do you think of your brother's conquests, Ozai? His accomplishments are the stuff of legend." Where Ozai used to look up at Azulon with wide eyes, envy and competition clear on his bright face, he now turned only slightly towards his father, his gaze calm and solemn as ever.

"Indeed, father," Was his reply, cold and austere. His gaze was as it always was now, dark and calculating, although just aloof enough to seem like a politician and not a murderer. And for a moment Azulon felt as if he was staring in a mirror, if only he was some thirty or so years younger.

Azulon stared at his son's face for a few moments, upset that he could not summon any reaction in him anymore. He wanted to look down at his youngest son, only now he did not look down, as Ozai was the same height as him now. He was broad of shoulder, too. His dark, shiny hair fell like silk around him. His crimson robes were crisp and immaculate, draping over his powerful frame. When Azulon stared into his son's gaze he couldn't read anything at all off him. Not anger, nor sadness. All he could detect in him was some hint of deeper intelligence, some aura of calculation and… emptiness. In truth he did not recognize Ozai any longer. Everything about his former self was gone. Now his son was not a hindrance but rather an accessory. Mostly worthless but yet brilliant and talented nonetheless.

However, Azulon was smart. Smarter even than his prodigal sons. Where Iroh was sometimes blinded by familial affection Azulon was not. He knew that with this new change came other consequences. What good would come from Ozai's reserve, or his intellect? There was simply no use for him. Azulon wondered, briefly, if his son had some ulterior motive in his actions, some sort of plan hidden from view. He would put it to the test, he decided.

There was a knock on the door. Ozai rose from his desk and went to answer it, silken robes flowing behind. He was taken off guard slightly to see his father standing at the entrance to his chambers. The firelord never visited him there, never. If Azulon ever took time away from governing, which he rarely did, it was almost always to see his eldest son - his favorite.

"I would like you to join Iroh and me for dinner tonight," Azulon said, his voice calm. Ozai showed no outward sign of shock or confusion, although he was taken aback. His father never dined with him if Iroh was around. He had claimed that Iroh and himself were discussing things that Ozai had no reason to understand; war tactics and political moves. Ozai had no idea what his father had in store. He inclined his head.

"Certainly, father. I am pleased to receive the invitation."

That was another thing Azulon noticed. Where Ozai used to try and use informal speech with him, as Iroh did, he no longer dared. Or, perhaps, he no longer wished to. Ozai had seemingly given up any hope that his father would like him. When Azulon first discovered this it made him pleased to see his son grow up and no longer care about such frivolous things as affection. But now, it seemed, along with distance came complete isolation. It was if Azulon could never truly speak to his son anymore. There was some sort of adept politician that had grown inside of him, saying things with no weight, responding with no meaning. The only emotions Ozai displayed anymore were fabricated. Azulon wanted to put that to the test.

At dinner Ozai was the perfect prince, the son his father always wanted. He listened to his brother go over the details of the war and the battles he had fought respectfully, adding little but to compliment him. Iroh was overjoyed, Ozai was a talented actor, and Azulon was furious. He did not trust this new change. He knew Ozai was trying to play him somehow. His acting was too immaculate, his speech and mannerisms to refined to be true. His son had acquired a silver tongue, and Azulon wanted to cut it off.

"What you were able to accomplish, brother, is truly amazing," Ozai lied through his teeth, his eyes kind as his looked at Iroh. Iroh, suspecting nothing, smiled in return gleefully.

"Thank you, Ozai. You are too kind," Iroh said, still smiling as he reached for more xiao long bao. Azulon narrowed his golden eyes.

"Indeed." His voice was steely and dangerous. Ozai looked over to his father, his eyes blank save for some pretend concern.

"Is something the matter, father?" Ozai asked, raising an elegant brow. Azulon wanted to take Ozai's duplicity and cut it out of him. However, his son's acting was too good for him to call him out on it, as Iroh would notice nothing. Actually, no one else would probably notice such a thing in Ozai. They would simply see him as growing up, realizing his place and being comfortable in it. Azulon was smarter than that, however. He knew Ozai would never be comfortable in his position. He hated being worthless, looked over like nothing more than the furniture. And his intelligence made him dangerous.

"What have you been doing, Ozai, while your brother conquers whole quadrants of the Earth Kingdom? What do you have to show for yourself?" Azulon's anger was evident, but he didn't care. Iroh's brows knitted together in confusion, and he looked between his father and his brother questioningly. Ozai showed only the slightest bit of concern. This seemed a random outburst of aggression on his father's part.

"Father, what's the meaning of this?" Iroh questioned, his concern evident on his face. Ozai raised a hand to still his brother's aid.

"I have been working on something, father, it is only that I haven't discussed it with you yet," Ozai explained, his voice low and calm. Azulon narrowed his gaze again.

"Oh, and what is that?" He said disbelievingly.

"I've been working on a solution to the problems our navy is having with southern watertribe guerillas. I've been drawing up plans that I believe will solve some of our problems in the south." Ozai seemed confident in his plans, and yet, not overtly so. Azulon huffed through his nose. His son could not fool him. He only wished to grab power and overshadow his brother.

"Really? I look forward to seeing your plans, Ozai! Those watertribe fighters have posed quite a problem in the past," Iroh chimed in, his joy returned.

"As do I," Azulon added, his voice dangerous, but less so than it had been. He didn't want Ozai to think he could fool him. He was old, yes, but not a fool. Iroh raised an eyebrow at his father.

"Why are you being so hostile to him, father? What has Ozai done to deserve this?" Iroh was not accusatory but rather curious. He wanted to stick up for his younger brother. Azulon suddenly realized he didn't have an answer. He calmed himself.

"Nothing," the Firelord mumbled.

 _At least,_ he thought, _nothing yet._

A/N: I got a request for another chapter of this book, so here you go! Enjoy.


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